Sweet Remembrances
by Evilgoddss
Summary: When Grissom waits too long to figure things out, it really does become too late. G/S Spoiler: PWF
1. Chapter One

Sweet Remembrances  
  
Spoilers from: Playing with Fire (Season 3)  
  
Part One  
  
She lingered longer in the shower than she meant to, her subconscious demanding an escape from the reality of her life for moments longer than her conscious had intended to allow. Head tilted back, the hot water pounded down into her face, and she turned her face just slightly so that she could breathe through her mouth.  
  
Today. Today. Today. Today. This was it. Today. Everything changed. Today.  
  
Eyes closed, she willed all the chaotic uncertainty away from her mind, desperate to find some seed of peace to cling to. 'Calm. Calm. This is the right thing to do.' She told herself 'I promised I'd be there for him. I've got to do this.'  
  
'I've got to. Oh God.' Her eyes opened, dark painful pools full of the misery she couldn't put in words. Her chin dropped down, nearly to her breastbone, and she slumped against the wall. "What am I doing?" She whispered.  
  
Bracing now water-wrinkled fingers on the tiled wall of the stall, she folded her arms on the gray-ceramic tiles and cradled her aching head into that pillow. What she was doing was keeping a very old promise. And, while part of her was more than happy to do this, it was the threat of change that scared her so much.  
  
Loss.  
  
'He's dying. I have to do this.' Her breath came in shallow gasps, fear more than anything else. She loved him. She did. She always had loved him. He was a part of her world in a way no other friend could be, and the fact he was dying from complications with leukemia was ripping her beating heart out of her chest.  
  
'I can do this. I can.' She breathed, seeing soulful blue eyes smiling up to her in her mind. 'It's not that hard. And, really, what does it change?'  
  
He'd never be released from the hospital again. He'd never share a bed with her (not that he had), cuddle with her, dance with her, give her a Christmas present or make a quick phone call just to shoot the breeze between his shifts. He was going to die. And soon. And, while it would hurt so much to remember him, the chance he was offering to her now would soothe her heart so much. Just to have something of him left in her life would provide some comfort for the pain and heartache of losing him. A bittersweet blessing, she supposed. 'I can do this.' She straightened. 'I can so do this. And I will do this. I want to.'  
  
With one hand, resolute with her determination, she snapped the water off and pushed back the shower curtain that shielded the stall. Briskly she toweled herself dry and wrapped another towel around her dark hair. 'Get dressed, put some makeup on and get going. I have.' She squinted up at the clock, eyes intense with concentration. 'I have forty-five minutes to get to the hospital. Yikes.'  
  
Nothing like a deadline to force the butterflies into nearly complete submission.  
  
Hastily, she threw open her locker and pulled out the plastic wrapped garment hanging so demurely on the hook. Her fingers skimmed over the plastic reverently, the faint tremble in her hands barely noticeable, before she gently set it down on the bench and turned back to her locker. The nylons, heels and her small makeup back surfaced next, and lastly her bra and panties, both matching and delicate.  
  
'Move. You don't have time to dawdle.' She reminded herself as she gazed down at the assemblage on the small bench that ran parallel to the row of lockers. 'Get dressed. Get going.'  
  
The sheer nylons flew on her slender legs chasing the panties that she'd slid on first. Then, snapping her bra with impatient fingers, she reached for the plastic and stripped it off. The soft barely-pink suit with the delicate cut and soft weave was so pristine and elegant it took her breath away. The tailored line of the jacket would skim her torso lovingly, and the skirt, while short, still hung just above the knee in a cut designed to emphasize that this was a woman.  
  
Even if it was immodest to say so, she knew she'd look stunning. 'Camisole.' She reminded herself, looking at the deep V-neck of the jacket. Turning around, she rifled through her sports gym-bag in the locker and came up with the ivory lace undergarment and slid it over her head.  
  
The fabric of her suit was too delicate and pale to risk getting makeup on. Even a shimmering white eye shadow would mark it horribly, and that was the last thing she wanted. So, clad in panties and camisole, she quickly moved to the washroom facilities and commandeered a sink and mirror for her own uses.  
  
She'd never worn much makeup. A hint of lipgloss, a touch of eye-liner and on bad days, concealer for the bags under her eyes. Today, however, she would make Catherine proud. Her makeup kit wasn't as sparring as the blond CSI liked to think, she had the full compliment of gear, she just rarely used it as she preferred to feel her skin free of the cosmetics.  
  
'Foundation.' She mentally checked off as she used a soft sponge to blend the soft ivory color into her skin. 'Eyeliner. the gray.' Her mouth opened into a silent 'oh' as she lined around her eyes, reactionary more than intentional. Quickly she did her eyeshadow and applied the mascara before reaching for lipliner and her favorite gloss.  
  
'Looks good.' She nodded to herself, shifting her head slightly. 'Needs blush. I'm too pale.' The brush and a soft rose blush manifested instantly and with a light touch were dabbed just below her cheekbones. 'Better. Mascara and set with the powder and I'm good to go.'  
  
Taking a few minutes more, she brushed out her naturally curly hair, and rather than blow dry it straight, she whisked it into a french roll, grateful that the shoulder length tresses were long enough to go up without any loose bits straying awkwardly out of place. 'Get dressed, girl. You have twenty-five minutes left.'  
  
The skirt and jacket were no sooner on, and her feet had no sooner stepped into the two-inch heels when the locker door opened behind her. "Drat." She muttered. "Busted." Somehow, she had hoped to get away without any of her coworkers seeing her.  
  
"Sara?" Catherine Willows gaped openly at the slender back facing her. "Is that you?"  
  
Resignation ruled, and Sara grabbed her remaining gear and stowed it into the locker before snapping the lock shut. "Yeah. I've got an appointment this morning." She muttered an excuse before the older woman could ask the question.  
  
Tossing a look over her shoulder, she silently chuckled at the fish-out-of- water look on Catherine's face. "Something wrong?" She asked, trying for the casual tone of voice of no worries.  
  
"No." Catherine shook her head, still staring. "You look wonderful." She blurted, as she moved closer, walking around the bench to get a good look at Sara. "That suit is stunning."  
  
Despite her intentions of staying casually indifferent, Sara blushed. "Thanks." She mumbled.  
  
"Did I miss something?" Catherine eyes the younger woman's face with the same analytical intensity she reserved for her crime scenes. Her eyes started at the crown and shifted carefully down to brows, eyes, nose and lips. She nodded. "Someone getting married?"  
  
Sara swallowed hard. "Err. yeah. A friend of mine."  
  
"Ah." Catherine pursed her lips consideringly. "Male or female?"  
  
"Male." Sara hedged. She glanced at the clock nervously. If she didn't get out of here now, not only would she be late getting to the hospital but also the guys ran the risk of seeing her. Damn.  
  
"Uh huh." Catherine leaned back against the locker, and loosely folded her arms over her chest. "You're awfully nervous, Sara. There's something more. What is it?" Her maternal instincts were roaring that something was up, and being a mother, she wanted answers now.  
  
Sara shook her head, her hair staying just as it ought, thanks to the thick heaviness of her curl and the dampness of her hair. "I can't tell you." Apology laced her tone. "I want to, but I can't. I promised. and it'll all make sense later, okay?"  
  
Catherine frowned, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "Ah." Tongue pressed to the roof of her mouth, she nodded shortly "You know, I was kidding before but now I'm worried. Does Gris know?"  
  
Sara shook her head again, and reached for her small purse. "No."  
  
"Anybody around here?"  
  
Again she shook her head.  
  
"Sara - are you sure everything's okay?"  
  
"Wonderful. It's just a wedding. Don't worry about it." She smiled gamely. "Honestly, you'd think I was being blackmailed or something to dress nicely and attend a wedding."  
  
The other woman didn't even twitch. "Maybe." She muttered. Something was. off. Wrong. "I'm telling Grissom to pair us for the next shift." She warned Sara. "And, then you're going to dish. I want to know everything that you're not telling me."  
  
Fortunately, Sara felt confident that her foundation and blush kept the pallor from showing on her face. It didn't matter, but still, the idea of talking about William so openly to people. To admit she was waiting for one of her best friend's to die in the coming days. To cavalierly admit she was marrying a man she loved, but wasn't in love with, because he wanted her to inherit his estate and to give birth to his children posthumously.  
  
Oh yeah. Now there was a conversation she wanted to have.  
  
End PT 1 


	2. Chapter Two

Sweet Remembrances  
  
Spoilers from: Playing with Fire (Season 3)  
  
Part Two:  
  
They found her sitting on the bench, staring blankly and expressionless at the wall. She didn't move when they walked in, made no acknowledgement when they called her name. She just sat there, pensive and still.  
  
"Cat?" Warrick nudged her, finally, after he and Nick exchanged worried glances. "You there?"  
  
Catherine's head snapped up, eyes blinking fiercely as his face came into focus. "Warrick?" Her head twitched to the right. "Nick? What's wrong?"  
  
Nick's eyebrow arched curiously, and he nudged Warrick out of his way before sitting down beside her. "I don't know, darlin'. We were hoping you could tell us that. You look like your best friend just died."  
  
Her china eyes stared into him, deep and fathomless but swirling with confused thoughts. "No. Not my best friend." She muttered. "I just saw Sara."  
  
Now Warrick's eyebrow shot up. "And?" Seeing Sara wasn't unusual. They worked with the other woman all the time. Hell, every few weeks, they all got together for breakfast.  
  
Catherine shook her head, her expression vague and confused. "Nothing." She admitted, though her lips pursed to counter her statement. "She was just... really dressed up. It surprised me."  
  
"Sara?"  
  
"Define dressed up." Nick snickered. "She wore a blouse instead of a t- shirt?"  
  
"Suit. Good linen weave, off-white. Heels. Makeup. Hair up." Catherine shrugged. "Dressed up. I think she had diamond earrings and a small diamond pendant on too."  
  
Jaws dropped. "When was this?" Warrick asked, Nick was already on his feet.  
  
"Just a few minutes ago. You just missed her." Catherine waved vacantly at the door. "She's going to a wedding."  
  
They were off like shots, both eager to catch a glimpse at a gussied up Sara Sidle. Darting down the hallways like twin yearling horses approaching a finishing line, they barely avoided taking out hapless lab technicians who were just doing their jobs.  
  
Warrick hit the side door to the parking lot, his hip punching the bar down and his body weight forcing it to swing wildly back on it's hinges. They went screaming out into the lot, heads swinging side to side observing everything in the scene just as they did at a crime scene. "There." Nick breathed, pointing across the lot where they could see Sara unlocking the door to her Tahoe. "Woah."  
  
Dressed up was an understatement. "She is going to someone else's wedding, right?" Warrick blinked. "That's awfully..."  
  
"Bridally... for Sara, at least." Nick finished for him. He paused, and then looked at Warrick with a speculative gleam in his eye. "You don't think..."  
  
"She wouldn't..."  
  
"Nah." They finished together.  
  
"Nah what?" Their supervisor's voice was almost amused, and it startled the pair so much they nearly spun off their feet turning around. "So, where's the fire?"  
  
Nick shrugged with confusion. "What fire, Grissom?"  
  
Gil Grissom smiled, in as much as he ever smiled. "Well, the way the two of you were blasted down the hall, I thought there was a fire going on. You nearly killed Archie."  
  
Sheepishly, Warrick ran a hand through his short hair. "Ah. Oops." He muttered. "We probably got a little carried away."  
  
"Just a little." Grissom nodded. "Don't do that again, please." He requested, looking at Warrick and then Nick straight in the eye with grave intensity. "We had one accident at the lab once, we don't need another. Okay?"  
  
"Right." Both chimed, each remembering the hell that was the explosion in the lab last year.  
  
"So, what was so urgent you had to get out here?" Grissom looked beyond them at the still lot. Most of the day crew had straggled in by now, filling up the empty spots nearest them. "Seems quiet out here."  
  
"They were looking for Sara." Catherine supplied tartly, pushing the door back and stepping out to join them, her purse tucked neatly under her arm. "She's already left." She finished as Grissom looked at her inquisitively.  
  
The older man nodded, the wall around his thoughts deep and complex always manifested as soon as Sara was mentioned. The feelings he had for their coworker ran deep, and yet, inexplicably, the pair denied any connection whatsoever.  
  
Something had to give. One of them had to take the first step or the tension between Grissom and Sara would end up snowballing over all of them. "Yeah." Warrick confirmed Catherine's statement. "We were going to ask her to join us for breakfast."  
  
Nick cottoned on immediately. "Uh huh. Just to shoot the breeze. We haven't had a group brekkie in weeks."  
  
"Months." Catherine corrected dryly.  
  
"Since before the lab..." Warrick shrugged. The gesture was an euphanism they had all taken to using, well, the night shift had. And, Catherine appreciated not having her nose rubbed in possibly the biggest career mistakes she'd ever made. Accidentally leaving a sample running with the catastrophic potential of a large scale explosion.  
  
Something, some shadow, flickered across Griss's face. "I guess we haven't." He admitted softly, clearly trapped with a memory that was not only private but disturbing.  
  
"Right." Nick licked his lips nervously. "So, we lucked out. She's gone."  
  
It was lame. So lame. And, yet, only Catherine and Warrick saw the pathetic weakness of the statement. Sara Sidle never left work early. She was a woman committed to her career, who had nothing more in her life than her job.  
  
She thrived as a crime scene investigator. The challenges and riddles that mapped every crime were the puzzles she enjoyed the most, even if she had a distinct distaste for the homicides and domestic violence acts committed throughout their society. It wasn't that she liked that people got hurt and provided her with work, but she did enjoy a conundrum. She tore things apart and rebuilt the scenes in her mind to identify all the players and how everything fits in.  
  
It was that part of her personality that of all of them made her the most like Grissom.  
  
But, something in the dynamic between the duo had changed, and none of the rest of their team could figure it out. It had started pre-explosion, months before the lab had blown up. Grissom had suddenly started assigning Sara to work with anyone but himself, keeping her off of every case he was working himself as if his life depended on it.  
  
After the explosion though, something had happened. Even in the midst of her own emotional upheaval and the chaos of her own life, Catherine had seen the shift. It was in the way Grissom looked at Sara when she wasn't watching, and the way Sara suddenly started to close in on herself, distancing herself from all of them.  
  
They were losing her. And, Grissom had no one to blame but himself. 'Third degree burns, Gil.' She clucked her tongue and shook her head, ironically catching Grissom's attention with the action.  
  
"What?" He asked point blank, his body twisted as if reaching for the door intending to return to that little cave he called his office.  
  
"Nothing. No." She shook her head, suddenly decisive. "No. That's wrong. It's Sara. We're losing her."  
  
Three pairs of eyes blinked at her.  
  
"I thought you said she was going to a..." Nick's voice suddenly muffled quiet as Warrick wrapped his hand over it. "Thing." He adlibbed, catching the oh-so unsubtle hint.  
  
Grissom didn't move, even if his eyes shift to focus on the young CSI's face with deceptively mild curiosity. "A thing?" He asked softly.  
  
Warrick thumped Nick between the shoulder blades. "A thing. A girl thing. You know. Things that girl's do when they want to..."  
  
"Idiots." Catherine rolled her eyes, jerked the door open and walked back into the building. If you left it to men, the world would fall apart. It was probably nothing. She was probably worrying about Sara for no solid reason. The woman was probably honestly going to a friend's wedding and was perhaps in the bridal party. That explained the lovely suit and makeup.  
  
Right.  
  
Except, Sara didn't have any friend's in Las Vegas. And she hadn't talked about going to any friend's wedding before hand. And, if she hadn't walked into the locker at that critical moment, Catherine doubted she'd have ever heard about the wedding or seen the dazzling display of Sara Side: Lady.  
  
Stomach churning in tense knots, Catherine strode briskly through the halls and back to the lockers. It was wrong. Very wrong. Everything about Sara's attitude tonight had felt off. 'I'm not doubting my gut instincts.' Catherine grunted softly to herself, even as she pushed the locker room door open and approached her target with determination.  
  
Sara used a combination lock on her locker, something which Catherine silently said a prayer of gratitude for. Her skills in life did not, unfortunately, include lock picking. She did, however, memorize numbers easily. "32. 10. 4" The lock snickt was incredibly satisfying.  
  
She ducked down into a squat, rolling back on her heels to consider her actions. It was unethical, she was snooping in a coworkers locker as if it was a crime scene. Part of her cringed in guilt and wanted to slam the door shut and move on.  
  
The rest of her, however, wanted answers. Hopefully before something irrevocable happened and she had the undeniable displeasure of watching both Grissom and Sara self-destruct. "So." She muttered. "This is officially my crime scene."  
  
She hauled out the duffle bag Sara had jammed at the bottom of the locker, and unzipped it carefully. Folding back the top flap, she surveyed the contents, noting the cosmetic bag, the brush and the wad of plastic with a coat-hanger tangled in the middle just below. Her fingers nipped down and carefully lifted out the soft dry-cleaner plastic, turning it over until the plastic fell loose and the logo on the coat-hanger could be scene. "Dalmy's." She frowned, thinking of the high end boutique that she had on occasion shopped from. "Not something I'd expect of Sara." A tag at the top of the hanger, stapled to the bag that had covered Sara's suit caught her attention.  
  
'Sales receipt.' She noted absently, her fingers reaching to smooth it down. Starting at the bottom of the receipt, she noted the purchase date, for a few days earlier. Purchased on a VISA with alterations noted in the comments column. Her eyes darted over the price, sucking in a breath and grimacing. "Ouch." She muttered. "That'll set the bank account back a bit. Awfully pricey for-" The name on the receipt stopped her cold.  
  
'Cranston / Sidle wedding. 8/8/03'  
  
She blinked, and stared again. It stayed the same. "Oh, my God." She breathed. There was no way Grissom knew about this. No way in HELL. He would not have been so... well, as relaxed as Grissom ever got lately when the subject of Sara came up. He would not have shown his face at all today if he had known. "Oh. My. God." She said again.  
  
"What about your God?" Spoke the man she dreaded seeing the most from behind her. "Isn't that Sara's locker, Catherine?"  
  
Typical, he'd know Sara's locker. He'd probably know the chemical composition of Sara's favorite perfume too. He just didn't know how to handle what he felt for Sara. Sheepishly, Catherine turned around, her hands busy stashing the hanger and the receipt into the bag and burying it as fast as she could. "Um. Well. Yeah, it is."  
  
He grunted. "I see." The words were vague, but the message was clear. He wanted answers.  
  
"I told her I'd lay away her... stuff." Catherine lied blandly. "The ah garment bag, and her makeup. And, I said I'd drop it off at her apartment later. So, she... left her locker open so I could do that."  
  
Nicky was rubbing off on her, and it wasn't good. She could string a story better than that, dammit.  
  
"Really?" The eyebrow arched sublimely. "Sara asked you to do this?" The subtext was clear: Sara never let anyone touch her personal world. She was so keen to dodge any interference in her life that it boggled Catherine's mind.  
  
"Well." Catherine smiled gamely. "You know me. I offered. She accepted. I think she was in a rush."  
  
"Uh." His eyes stayed fixed on her face. "Huh."  
  
Bravely, she kept up that open and eager expression, the one that said 'I'm just being a good helpful friend'. It seemed to have worked, his gaze dropped from her face to the bag, and then flickered back up again as if shy to examine Sara's personal effects too closely. Something stirred in that brilliant mind, though, Catherine watched some realization slide across his face before taking up a painful position in his eyes.  
  
"She brought makeup?" He asked softly, now openly staring at the bag.  
  
'Hoo boy.' The can of worms was open now. Catherine shook her head as if to display confused uncertainty as to what he was asking. "Yeah, so?"  
  
"Sara doesn't wear makeup." Her friend's said with authority.  
  
"Sure she does." She waved him off, "She wears lipstick almost every day."  
  
"Gloss." He protested. And, then suddenly realizing what it suggested about him for observing this detail so frequently, his mouth snapped shut.  
  
It was too late, though. Catherine smirked openly. "Gloss. Good to know you look up out of the microscope some of the time. Too bad you don't see the whole picture and do something about it."  
  
"Catherine." A hand rumpled through his tight curls, the weariness he tried so hard to hide mingled openly with frustration and fear on his features. "You don't understand."  
  
"Don't I?" She shook her head, tongue rubbing agitatedly under the edge of her incisor. "Don't I, Gil? We all see this damn dance you do around Sara. What do you want from her? You pull her close and push her away so much, it's amazing she doesn't have whiplash."  
  
He winced. "I don't mean to..."  
  
"Doesn't matter." She brushed him aside with a wave of her hand. "Do you even KNOW what you want from her? If you want her in your life take it. Before you lose the chance."  
  
He laughed, mirthlessly. "She said much the same thing, once." The jaw wired shut as soon as it was out.  
  
Catherine arched an eyebrow. "And?"  
  
He was silent, pacing around the locker like a starved lion. From door to the wall, around and back again, his body tight with tension while his fists clenched and relaxed endlessly. "I pushed her away when I should have pulled her close." He said after a long moment of silence.  
  
Catherine felt her head nod slowly, her gaze sweeping down to the bag in front of her. Blowing out a breath in a silent oh, she tried to put her thoughts in order. Only one came shining through. "When... when was this?" She asked softly.  
  
"The lab incident." Like Warrick, he tried to spare her feelings, even while being tormented by his own.  
  
"Ah. Oh." Head angled up, she considered the fluorescent lighting. The bulb nearest the washroom needed to be changed. It was starting to flicker. "Can I ask what happened?"  
  
He shrugged, finally ending his packing and slumping against a wall before sliding down to the ground. It was such a defeated posture for Grissom to display, and she feared that if that could bring him so low, the evidence for where Sara was right now would destroy him.  
  
"She asked me... no. That's wrong. She gave herself an out too. She asked if I wanted to have dinner with her. I said no." As if that said it all, he lapsed into sullen silence again.  
  
"Griss?" Catherine's smile wasn't friendly. It was ironically amused, but not friendly. "There's more, isn't there. What did you say?"  
  
"I didn't know to do about it. About her. About the way I feel about her." He said softly, hesitantly. "I still don't. She... she said that by the time I figure things out, it really could be too late."  
  
"It may be." Catherine sighed. Had Sara known then? Had she been already involved with this Cranston person and looking for a sign as to which way to go?  
  
And why hadn't she told Griss? Her supervisor should have known about a change in marital status. There was something wrong with all this. With Grissom, with Sara, with whatever was happening. "Grissom, does Sara have a brother or sister?"  
  
He stared at her owlishly, as if confused. "What?"  
  
"Does she have any other family around?"  
  
"No. Her parents. They're pretty reclusive running a bed and breakfast outside of San Francisco. Why?"  
  
Well, there went that idea out the window. "Oh. How about friend's. Do you know if she has a friend with a surname of Cranston?"  
  
He scratched behind his ear with one hand, still puzzled by her questions but game to steer away from the conversation he didn't want to have. It put him back on a mental track of self control. "She had...yeah. William Cranston. He grew up with her. Went to MIT, a year or two before she went to Harvard."  
  
Oh. Dear. "Ah." Well, if she were lucky, he'd let it go and scuttle off home to hide.  
  
"Why?"  
  
Catherine shook her head, hastily zipping Sara's duffle bag shut. "No reason. Just curious."  
  
"What did she say to you?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"Catherine?"  
  
She shrugged, "Well, she was all dressed up, and it was really unusual to see Sara dressed to the nines, so I asked. And she's going to a wedding. For this Cranston person."  
  
He frowned then. An open, no holds back unhappy frown. "She never said anything." It was softly said. It really wasn't surprising though, other than the assignment hand out in the breakroom at the start of shift, Sara didn't talk to Grissom at all. She did her job, wrote up her report and always managed to file it in his office when he wasn't there.  
  
It wasn't like he could accuse her of avoiding him, though. She always had her reports in on time, usually before he could think to ask for them.  
  
"You're not surprised, though." Catherine observed, her tone kind.  
  
The head dropped forward, his salt and pepper curls more pronounced in the unforgiving lighting. "No."  
  
"Have you figured out what you should do about how you feel about her?" She stood up, dropping the tote on the top of the bench, and moved to sit beside him on the floor. So her khaki pants would get dirty, they could always be cleaned.  
  
He snorted. A short sound of dismay. "I could sooner find world peace." Blue eyes flicked up to the locker across from him, Sara's locker, and then back to his bent knees. "I think I love her."  
  
"I think so too." Catherine put a hand on his arm, squeezing softly. "But, that doesn't say what you're going to do about it."  
  
He shrugged. "What can I do?" Intent eyes found her face, and stared hard. "Tell me, what can I do? I'm her supervisor. We've all got clauses in our contracts to prevent fraternizing... what can I do?"  
  
Those damn contracts. Oh, she understood the logic behind them, but the misery it was putting two people she cared for through, damn those contracts! Still, she chose her words carefully. "Griss... Gil. The way things are between you both right now, if something doesn't give, if you can't find a way to work with her positively then she is going to leave. And no plant will stop her."  
  
He stared long into her earnest face, before nodding tightly. "I know." He swallowed and looked up. "I'll talk with Sara."  
  
She shrugged facially. This was fatalistic, but, he had to know. "Gil. One more thing." His attention was back on her. "Sara was right. It could possibly be too late."  
  
End PT 2 


	3. Chapter Three

Sweet Remembrances  
  
Spoilers from: Playing with Fire (Season 3)  
  
Part Three:  
  
She kissed Billy's forehead softly in a parting caress. His eyes were closed, and his breath evened out into a peaceful sound of sleep. The morphine was doing its work, he wasn't in pain. His expression wasn't twisted as it had been earlier and he seemed genuinely relaxed.  
  
Thank God.  
  
Gently, she smoothed the sheets covering him, the light glinting off the simple white-gold band on her left hand. "Good night, Billy." She whispered, biting her lip nervously. It seemed so wrong, that on her wedding night or day as the case were, she was going home alone.  
  
It seemed so wrong that she was married to her best friend. And, as soon as the tests were completed, and all systems were go, would be inseminated with his child. Well, hopefully inseminated. Despite Celine Dion's phenomenal success with the conception of her child, it wasn't a guaranteed first-time-wins process.  
  
The butterflies fluttered back into frenzied existence just thinking about it.  
  
'I want to do this.' She reminded herself, taking in a slow breath. 'Billy had given me the option either way, remember? He asked if I would, said I didn't have to, and I chose to do this.'  
  
Besides, it wasn't like Grissom was waiting in the wings for her. If she hadn't married Billy now, and hadn't chosen to go this route to have his child, she doubted she ever would get married and ever would have a family. This was the only way for her to achieve some portion of her dream. And, at the same time, she gave to one of her dearest friend's something he wanted too.  
  
'I do want to do this.' She assured herself, her left hand with the foreign ring softly rubbing over her flat abdomen. 'I can do this. I'm not afraid. If Catherine can raise a child on her own, I can too.'  
  
Billy was leaving her financially secure, too. The reason why he wanted her to marry him being that and the desire to give the child he wouldn't live to see his name. With that security, she could afford to take a few years off work, maybe go back to school and work on her Masters, and raise her child.  
  
Leaving the lab would be the hardest part. She loved her job, but she just couldn't work there when her heart was being trampled on day after day. Still, for her child she could leave, and it wasn't like Grissom would object. Not this time. He would probably be painfully glad to see her go.  
  
Billy shifted in his sleep, stirring Sara back from her miserable thoughts. Murmuring softly to himself, he still managed to bring a soft smile to her lips. If only he could hold on for a little longer, until they knew she was pregnant. She wanted so badly to give him that. 'I do love you, Cranston.' She thought to herself, the tears rising in her eyes as hard to push back as the constriction in her chest. 'I don't know how I'm going to survive in this world without you to lean on.'  
  
He'd been there for her after she had been mugged. He'd been there for her when she had been alone and scared on her first day in Boston. He'd been there for her when River Anderson had grabbed her book in the playground and tossed it into the dumpster. And, just picturing River's black eye made her smile now.  
  
Quietly, Sara tiptoed from Billy's room, closing the door behind her with care so that it didn't bounce against the doorframe loudly. He needed his sleep if he was to continue to be strong. The cancer was destroying him quickly, his relapsed condition not responding at all to the chemo or radiation.  
  
'He should be in Chicago.' She shuddered softly. The University Medical Center, to which he'd transferred to as soon as his case was consigned as terminal, just to be closer to her, was doing their best. It wasn't going to be enough, though.  
  
Sara swallowed hard around a painful lump in her throat, and forced herself to get back in gear. She had a lot to do before her shift started tonight, even if the lawyer that Billy had hired was taking care of a lot of the legal paperwork required. First things first, she had to get some sleep.  
  
And, later, she had to go grocery shopping. One of the first things the doctor who would be performing the IUI had informed her was that her weight was too low. The dietitian he'd brought in had drafted up a meal plan and some reasonable weight goals that she intended to pursue. Especially in the wake of the news that her mother had osteoporosis.  
  
Her steps were mechanical, her face blank and eyes unseeing as she automatically walked down the long corridor out of the cancer wing and turned towards the elevators. Her wave to the nurses caring for her fri... husband was almost perfunctory.  
  
The hospital was always busy, especially the University Medical Center. Whether it was with patients, workers or visitors, there was always a crowd waiting for every elevator. Sara slipped in amongst them, and quietly kept her attention and awareness to herself. 'I'm so tired.' She thought, watching a small boy bounce up and down. 'Where does he get his energy?'  
  
And, dear lord... how would she keep up with her own child if he (or she) had that kind of bounce? 'I'll manage.' She promised with a slight smile. 'Besides, neither Billy or I were hyper. No reason that our child should be.'  
  
The promise of a baby was the silver lining in the dark cloud of Billy's deterioration. It was what kept her going, kept her spirit's up. Since it was clear there never would be a 'her and Grissom' she had consigned the dream of having HIS child to a fiery grave.  
  
'This is my future.' She decided, leaving the Center with resolute steps. 'I'm going to take this and make it perfect. Without Grissom.' So what that she felt the urge to cry, it was the best she could make of the situation.  
  
Her Tahoe sat at the out region of the parking lot, where she had deliberately parked it even though there were closer parking spaces. She had needed the extended walk to sort her thoughts out, to put some semblance of order to her mind and composure to her body. Getting married wasn't a commitment she took lightly, even if her husband was days or weeks from death.  
  
'I'm going to be a widow.' She blinked, even as she approached her car, the thought had popped out of no where. 'Most people don't think about that just after they get married. Talk about messed up.'  
  
Ruefully, Sara shook her head, but unlocked the truck and climbed into the driver seat. Her cell phone and pager sat in the cup holder, both blinking with messages. Shutting the door behind her, she strapped on her seatbelt and slipped the keys into the ignition, but before putting the Tahoe into reverse, she grabbed her pager and scrolled through the messages. 'Office, office... Catherine. Shit. Grissom. Now what is HE paging me for?'  
  
Didn't it figure that he'd call her now after he had spent weeks avoiding talking to her? Now he calls, on the very day she had just gotten married and made several doctor appointments preparing for an intrauterine insemination. "And isn't it ironic." She laughed shortly, harshly.  
  
Clearing the memory on her pager, she dialed the voicemail for her cellphone and listened through them. The two offices messages were expected, one from Sandy in the lab about the prints she and Nick had brought in, the other from Nick restating the same thing. 'At least work will keep me busy tonight.' She thought bemusedly. Two bodies, eighteen partiers present, and fingerprints that belonged to no one who had been at the scene when she and Nick had arrived. Wonderful.  
  
There was a message from the lawyer who had left her and Billy shortly after the Justice of the Peace had concluded the ceremony. An older gentleman, he had been very considerate about what she was going through, and taken the time to explain all the legal documents she had to authenticate as Billy's spouse and now spousal beneficiary in the terms of his will.  
  
There was also the paperwork that gave permissions for the performance of the IUI operation. Sperm wasn't something that was just casually thrown around, despite everything she had seen at various crime scenes.  
  
"Ms. Sidle, just to update you. As per your request, I've submitted the change in matrimonial status forms to the Human Resources department at the LVPD. I've been advised by Erin Alderash that the changes will be reflective upon your start of shift this evening, and that she'll need you to drop by and initial some documents regarding pensions."  
  
Easy enough. Hopefully, she could convince Erin not to tell anyone about the marriage or whatnot at the same time. She wasn't ashamed of Billy or what she had done, but she didn't want anyone's pity. And they would pity her.  
  
Anyway, it was nice to have that done. Her finger flicked over the '7' and deleted out the message.  
  
"Sara." The voice didn't need an identifier. She heard it in her dreams, and woke up crying wishing that she could hear it in reality. "It's Grissom. I. I uh." There was a gusting sigh stored in the message. "We need to talk, I guess." He said quietly, softly. "God, Sara. There's so much I need to set right."  
  
She leaned back into her seat, her head pushing against the padded headrest while a tear strolled down her cheek.  
  
"I'm sorry for what I've been doing. I'm sorry I don't know how to deal with... with my own feelings. I'm sorry - I'm sorry for pushing you away when I need you more now than ever. I'm sorry. And, I'm scared that you're slipping away."  
  
Another tear streaked from the other eye. If she had thought her chest was tight standing beside Billy's bed and staring down at his cancer-ridden body, well, it paled by comparison to the noose strangling the life from her heart and lungs.  
  
"Please Sara. I know... Cath said..." He paused. And she knew that within the space of that oh so pregnant pause, he was mustering the courage to utter those statements that just left her hanging on endlessly, hoping for weeks for more. He was making another one of those steps forward that would inevitably lead to a retreat. "I don't want to be too late."  
  
She barely heard the request to call him, she barely recognized the automatic voice asking her what she wanted to do. She only knew the sobs that racked her body and the incredible desire to curl up into a ball and just cry herself to sleep. How dare he. HOW DARE HE!  
  
She'd just moved on. Just taken that brave new step to build a life where he wasn't the central fixture, and now he decided to face the 'us' factor? "I can't do this, anymore." She cried. "I can't. I can't. Not anymore."  
  
She couldn't take wearing her heart on her sleeve and having it trampled on. Breathing wasn't enough, just loving him and having the love unrequited wasn't enough. Her heart was being cut out day after day, and it felt like her soul was bleeding to death while he pushed her further and further away. "I have to live without you." She swore, the palms of her hands rubbing fiercely into her eyes and smudging the mascara. "Because you won't give me what I need."  
  
Suffice it to say, she never returned his call.  
  
*~*~*  
  
The glamour was gone by the time she returned to the lab that evening. Her face cleaned of the makeup, and her suit carefully hung in the back of her closet, likely never to see the light of day again, she was back to her comfortable uniform of pressed pants and a simple blouse.  
  
It was a comforting uniform, the kind of garments that would let people believe it was business as usual. The tightness around her face could be accredited to a lack of sleep, or so she hoped, rather than the careful suppression of her emotions. Gris wanted her to be less emotional about cases, and she would do that. Only, now he was a case.  
  
"Sara." He had been waiting for her, and based on the rumpled state of his clothes, he'd spent the entire day waiting for her. Well, that was too damn bad for him.  
  
She drifted to a stop, just outside of the lockers. "Grissom." She nodded cordially, refusing to look him in the eyes all the same. She was not going to get emotional. She was not going to let him undermine everything she had fought to achieve.  
  
More to the point, she was not going to lollygag around in a fantasy of a future with him. He wasn't going to let it happen, and she wasn't going to dream about whispy-what-if's anymore. She had a future mapped out, it was viable, it was obtainable, and by damn she was going to make it hers without him in it.  
  
He fidgeted, to her amazement. "I. I called." He stammered, clearly nonplussed by her reception. "You didn't call back."  
  
She rotated her jaw, the crack it made audible. "Ya huh." She nodded, considering her words carefully. Nothing seemed appropriate. "I can't do it anymore." She decided, risking a quick look into his haggard face. "I can't feel what I feel for you. I need to shelve it, to bury it, to move past it and that's what I'm trying to do. That's what I'm doing, actually."  
  
He swallowed. "I see."  
  
"I hope you do." She whispered.  
  
There was an audience developing. Oh, no one was so close as to actually hear them, but they could both feel the eyes watching them carefully for the next move. It was awkward to say the least for the two most private people in the entire crime lab. "Can we talk... in my office?" He asked almost inaudibly.  
  
Sara rolled her shoulders, desperately hoping to ease the tension in her back. "Why?" She asked plaintively. "It's the same old, same old, Grissom. I make an effort, you make a step, and then you push me away so fast that I'm left spinning. I'm thirty-two years old. I've spent too long waiting for that life that I deserve, for the life I want, much less deserve. Screw it." She shrugged. "And, no offense, but screw you. I won't be that yo-yo you jerk around anymore."  
  
His eyes blazed, possibly challenged by the insult, and his hand slipped under her elbow to pull her into the locker room. Anyone there he could terrorize out. "I have never considered you a yo-yo or played with you." He argued.  
  
"Haven't you?" Sara folded her arms over her chest, posture defiantly defensive. "Then what has the last few months been about? Hell, what has the last goddamn year been about? We've done this dance for so long, and I don't know what you're afraid of, but I can't do it anymore." The tears were rising in her eyes despite her best efforts. "You tell me I need to get a life, and as soon as I do that because you told me too, I'm treated like I have leprosy. I was in shock after the lab blew up and you dumped all over me, and just as we seem to straighten shit out, I make a step and you again push me away. You discovered what 'beauty' was when you met me... right." She nodded with a cynical expression on her face. "And apparently it was something awful because you keep avoiding me, you keep pushing me away. If we were friends, you suck at it. If we were more than that, I'm the last person on the planet to know."  
  
His expression was strained, grievously so. "Sara," He tried, clearly as upset as she was although not nearly as expressive as she. "It's not you."  
  
"Of course it's not." She threw her hands up. "It's never me. I'm just a hapless bystander in this little drama of yours."  
  
"Sara..." His voice trailed. "What do you want me to say?"  
  
"Nothing." She shrugged while shaking her head side to side. "Nothing. I'm doing what you want, Grissom. I'm letting it go. I'm not asking for anything from you. Just let me do my job, let me live my life, and ah... don't... don't start changing the rules now." Nervously, she licked her lips. She had Billy to think of, the child she was going to try and conceive. She didn't need this now. Not now. It was... "Grissom." She sighed. "I told you then. If you waited too long it'll be too late." Making a small face, a tiny expression of resignation, she grit her teeth and bore down. "It's too late." She shrugged apologetically, wiping at her eyes with one hand.  
  
His expression shifted, just a fragment. Head moving slightly and eyes shifting focus from her face to her hand.  
  
She lowered her hand, and his eyes followed, and it was only then that she realized what she had done and what he had seen.  
  
The ring.  
  
Her wedding ring.  
  
"What...?" The pain in his face, the hurt in his expression nearly undid her, but dammit, she'd hurt enough for the both of them and it was over.  
  
She shook her head. "It's too late, Gris. Even if you have figured out what to do with the 'us', it's too late. Three months ago, I'd have given you whatever you wanted. Anything. But, I want things to in life. And, over the last three or so years, it's become clear to me that you don't share any of those goals in common. Maybe you like a status quo, but I don't."  
  
He shook his head, the look of betrayal in his eyes almost painful to see. "Who?" He asked, his voice cracking. "When... when did this..." He pointed down to the ring. "When did this happen?"  
  
"This morning." She shifted awkwardly. "And... ah. You might remember Billy Cranston."  
  
He swallowed, hard. "William Cranston?"  
  
She nodded. "Yeah." She murmured softly, looking away from the hurt in his face. "This was the right choice for me, Grissom. I'm not looking back. I held out hope as long as I could, and if I didn't want to burn I had to move on. So I did."  
  
"You married him? That was moving on?"  
  
Sara shrugged, pushing past him. "I guess so. At least it was making a step."  
  
End PT 3 


	4. Chapter Four

Sweet Remembrances  
  
Spoilers from: Playing with Fire (Season 3)  
  
Part Four:  
  
Grissom stared at the computer screen blankly. Slumped back in his chair, with his shoulders relaxed in a slump, he just stared blankly at what Catherine could easily identify was a blank screen. "Hey." She called, experimentally.  
  
He jolted, eyes flickering from the empty screen to her, and then back to the screen again. "Hey." It was too quiet. Too distant to be called a greeting.  
  
"You okay there?" She licked her lips, pushing the door to his office a little wider and stepping in, before shutting it behind her. He was definitely spaced. Had been since their little group pow-wow in the break room handing out the assignments. And, my, what a fun cup of tea that had been. "Gris?"  
  
"Fine." He muttered, staring blankly at the screen. He wasn't thinking, his face was way too vacant for that. Only his eyes had any depth to them, and they were maelstroms that she really didn't want to brave.  
  
"Sure you are." Well, there was bravery and then there was stupidity. Taking the stupid route, Catherine sat on the corner of his desk. "So, I'm guessing with all this grim reaperishness, you talked to Sara."  
  
Ooh. He flinched.  
  
"Right." She nodded. "She dumped on you, didn't she?"  
  
Aha. There it was, the mask that guarded the external facing of his wall of isolation.  
  
"That bad, huh." She clucked her tongue. "Let me guess, she said she wasn't waiting for you to make up your mind, and she told you so." He really wasn't responding at all well. She had hoped he'd come out of his shell, do something before Sara... did what she was afraid she had gone and done.  
  
"She got married this morning."  
  
Catherine froze. "Is that what she told you?" She breathed.  
  
"No." He shook his head. "The evidence never lies. She... she got married this morning. Their lawyer already notified HR."  
  
Catherine's eyes skimmed the desk, settling on the personnel file with Sara's name marked on the tab. It was, mercifully, closed, and despite her curiosity she didn't touch it. "Wow." She pursed her lips, both eyebrows raising. "That was quick." And clearly, premeditated. No last minute runs to the chapel on the strip.  
  
"Was it?"  
  
"Well, sure." Catherine scratched at her neck. "I mean, she never said anything to the rest of us. Greg is going to be heartbroken." Deliberately, she tried to steer clear of his own pain.  
  
He however, was wallowing beautifully in it. When she said she wanted him to look up from that microscope occasionally, and see the people around him, she wanted him to find some happiness, not this misery. God help them, but between him and Sara, she wasn't sure how they had ever connected, but they were sure as hell tearing each other up.  
  
What was next? Hell, maybe he'd decide to look up Lady Heather again. Wouldn't that be bloody marvelous?  
  
"I guess so." He muttered, aimlessly staring at her with that amazingly blank expression. It wasn't expressionless, or the famous Grissom poker- face, this was complete rock bottom nada. He was completely lost.  
  
"Griss?" Tenderly, Catherine reached out and squeezed his shoulder, mothering him just a little bit. "Go home. We'll be okay tonight, and you need some sleep."  
  
He nodded at her, but she doubted he had listened. "In a bit." He said, surprising her. "I need." He licked his lips. "There's some things I need to do first."  
  
"Don't do anything rash." She warned him, easily picturing him tendering his resignation, or running away from the rift that lay yawningly between him and Sara.  
  
He made a small moue, at least some sort of disdainful expression. "No. No. Not rash. I just..." He looked up at the ceiling, inhaling a shallow breath. "I need to see him." He finally admitted on the exhalation. "I need to know that she's going to be happy with him. That he'll give her what I didn't."  
  
She sighed then, "Are you sure that's what you should do?"  
  
"No." The snort was anything but typical Grissom. "I don't know anything anymore. I just... I'm not good at this feeling thing, Catherine. But, it's all I have right now."  
  
Nodding, she stood up. "Okay." She rubbed her tongue over the bottom edge of her teeth again, a nervous habit she'd developed after some dental procedure done in her teenage years. The sharpness never failed to surprise her. "Do you want company when you go?" The offer was sincere, even if her skepticism that he would take it ran deep.  
  
"No." She was validated in her beliefs, at least. "I've got to do this myself."  
  
Again, she nodded, and offered yet another gentle squeeze before leaving him to his thoughts. What a bloody mess. If only she had known earlier, maybe she could have circumvented some of this.  
  
Rubbing her suddenly sweaty palms on her pants, Catherine straightened her back and turned resolutely towards the layout room. True to her words to Sara at the end of their shift yesterday, she had asked Grissom to pair her with the other woman. He'd been only too happy to do so in the wake of Sara's bombshell.  
  
Time for some answers. Or at least, some rationality in all this mess, assuming there was any rationality to be found in it.  
  
Setting up a plan of attack, she entered the room with a vague smile. "How goes it?" She asked gamely.  
  
Sara looked up, her eyes not the bright pools of joy one would expect to see in a newlywed. "Slowly." She gestured to the scene photos scattered across the table, the corresponding scene map to which she was trying to plot print positioning to relationship to the scene.  
  
"Ah." Catherine pulled out a chair, and sank down beside Sara. She barely glanced at the work in front of her, rather she looked directly at Sara's left hand. "Nice." She nodded.  
  
Sara turned, staring at her with a puzzled expression. "Pardon?"  
  
"Your ring." Catherine jerked her chin towards it. "So, a friend's wedding huh? Did we forget to mention you were the bride?"  
  
There was a rigid set to Sara's jaw. An undeniable sign that this wasn't territory she wanted to venture into. "Maybe." She conceded, turning back to the grid-work in front of her. "Didn't seem... necessary."  
  
"Your own wedding." Catherine reached for a photo almost out of habit. "And that didn't seem like something to share?" Her forehead creased inquiringly as she glanced Sara's way.  
  
"No."  
  
"Ah." Catherine tapped the picture, not really looking at it. "So, you can tell me that this has absolutely nothing to do with the way you and Grissom have been avoiding each other, lately?"  
  
"Absolutely nothing to do with it at all." And, there was volumes of confidence in Sara's tone, so Catherine felt comfortable taking some of it at face value.  
  
"Was Grissom involved in the decision?" The words popped out and she instantly wanted to retract them. "What I mean is, was the way Grissom has been around you lately a factor making you go ahead with this?"  
  
"Why would he be a factor at all?" Sara gritted out.  
  
Catherine shrugged. "I don't know. Because you are obviously in love with him? Because he's such a doofus that doesn't know that he doesn't have to be afraid to love you?"  
  
Now Sara's shoulders went straight and her back up. "He... It's not."  
  
"No. It hasn't been like that. You've never been involved. The regulations have never been compromised." Catherine laid a hand on Sara's arm, the tactile approach always something that suited her methodology. "Sara," She tried soothingly. "Can this guy give you the happiness you want?"  
  
Sara looked to the other side of the room, offering Catherine the back of her head. "It's better than what I'm getting here, isn't it?" She asked brokenly. "It's more hope than I have here. It's a future, at least."  
  
Catherine closed her eyes, feeling Sara's pain despite her efforts to mediate. "Oh, Sara." She breathed, aching to give the younger woman a hug. "You should never settle for second best."  
  
Sara shook her head. "You don't understand." She looked down to her lap, her right hand pulling nervously at the wedding finger. "I'm not settling. It's complicated."  
  
Catherine reached over and pushed the pictures and the map away. "So explain it. I'm listening. Help me understand. You promised this guy something, you said that. So, what was it that makes him worth marrying? You're pinning a lot onto a guy that for all appearances has come out of the blue."  
  
Her laugh was short, brittle. "I've known Billy since I was three years old." She rubbed at her tired eyes. "We grew up together, even if he is two years older than me."  
  
"Billy?"  
  
"The guy I married." Sara smiled tremulously. "William Cranston. He's... an Engineer, graduated with his Masters from MIT with a double major, one of them physics. So, you know, we had common interests. Stayed in touch all of our lives."  
  
There was so much more that wasn't being said, Catherine could see that. "He's like a brother to you, isn't he?" She observed. "You married your brother?"  
  
"No." Sara bolted. "No. It's not like that."  
  
"Then, what is it like?" Because, by damn, if Grissom was going to self- destruct, this man had better be worth it.  
  
Sara slouched down in her chair, shrinking before Catherine's eyes, again she toyed with the ring. "He's... I. This won't be forever. This isn't my happily ever after. I'm not getting one of those." She admitted.  
  
Giving in to the impulse, Catherine wrapped Sara in a loose hug. "Why not? You deserve one." She insisted, rubbing a slow circle on Sara's back. "Why isn't he the happily ever after you want? Because he's not Grissom?"  
  
Again, her laughter was hollow, painful and terribly sad. "I let that dream die months ago, Catherine. There will never be anything there. He won't let it." Sara took a deep breath. "Promise me you won't say anything to anyone else?" She insisted.  
  
"Sara." Catherine warned her with just one word, she didn't like the way that was going. "Is something wrong? Has this guy forced you to..."  
  
She shook her head ferociously. "No. No. Promise me. I don't want anyone to know. I don't want anyone's pity."  
  
Catherine's eyes widened. Pity? For marrying someone? What was he, the elephant-man?" "Pity?" Now, she really didn't like the sounds of this. "I'll promise that I won't betray your trust. But, if this is... if he's...."  
  
"It's not bad. It's just... complicated." Sara sighed. "I'm not being hurt, though I expect I'll be crying in a few weeks, but that'll pass."  
  
"Sara." Catherine bit her lip. "What's going on?" She asked, the tone of her voice bewildered, worried and in general lost.  
  
"Billy's dying." Sara's head nodded, not in agreement or response, just a 'this is how it is' reaction. "He has... ah... leukemia. He's had it for years. It was in remission, but... it came back. And, ah... he's... not doing well."  
  
That wasn't what she expected. Oh no. Never that. "Oh, my god." Catherine breathed. "Oh, dear God. Sara...."  
  
Sara looked away for a moment, sucking in a breath as she again nodded. "Yeah. Well. He... we had a backup plan if we ever reached a point in our life that ah... when we decided it was the now or never for having our own family, or you know, a companion to share your life with." She bit down on her lower lip, worrying at it with agitation.  
  
"And this is it?" Catherine knew something was missing. If her husband were dying, that was hardly the companionship for a lifetime that one usually bought into. "It's a little..."  
  
Sara choked. "Desperate?"  
  
"No. Not that. I'd go with extreme. But not desperate."  
  
"He transferred out to University Medical when ah... it was proven that the chemo and radiation were failing." Sara shifted awkwardly in her chair, her body moving endlessly with the vibration of one knee bouncing up and down. "I was planning on asking for time off to go to Chicago and see him, but, he... decided that it'd be easier if he just came here."  
  
"I'm still not getting it." Catherine admitted, feeling utterly mystified by how all that ended up with Sara getting married to the man.  
  
"I want children." Sara whispered. "I want a family. I know I'm not the kind of girl guys date, much less marry. I'm standoffish. I'm not good with people. I tend to scare guys off when they find out what my IQ is, and then there's my hang-ups."  
  
Catherine could only gape. This was how Sara saw herself? It boggled her, that beneath the intelligence, the apparent self-assurance was this young woman with so little self-esteem for her own sexuality. And, if her husband was seriously dying for leukemia, there wasn't going to be any pregnancy happening after a few rolls in the sack. His sperm count would be seriously diminished after chemo and radiation treatments.  
  
Sara reached for the map she'd been working on before Catherine came in. Her jaw was resolutely closed, as if that last admission had been one too many.  
  
The pieces dropped into place inside Catherine's brain instantly. "You're going to be inseminated." She breathed, blinking hard and fast as she took it in. "That's why you've had those doctor's appointments lately. You're getting ready for insemination. A posthumous conception."  
  
Sara shrugged, but continued stubbornly on the map.  
  
Catherine licked her lips. Dear God, if marrying this guy hadn't been enough of a bombshell for Grissom, Sara was planning on having this soon to be dead husband's baby too. He'd never survive this.  
  
And, yet, she didn't blame Sara one drop. Although, she was giving up the ghost on having that happy marriage, happy families dream that every woman was entitled to have a little more prematurely than Catherine liked to see. "Does anyone else know about this?" She blurted.  
  
"No." Sara's voice was low, painfully quiet. "And given the success rate of intrauterine inseminations, I don't want to tell anyone until... later."  
  
Meaning, until she was safely pregnant. Brilliant. But, what about the husband? "And, Billy?"  
  
Even with Sara's face obscured, her body hunched over the table, Catherine could see the tension return. "He's... made changes to his will. So that if we are successful, and I do have this baby, we're well supported. And, even if we're not or I change my mind, he wanted to leave his assets to me. We're all the family we really had for each other. His parents died awhile ago, and it's not like I'm all that close to mine."  
  
If a goose had walked over her future grave, she didn't think she could be more chilled. "Is it his medical state that you don't want people to know? They're going to find out, Sara, when he dies."  
  
She shook her head. "No. I don't want people to know that the only chance of getting married that I had was to a man almost too dead to do anything other."  
  
Flummoxed, Catherine could only sit there. She didn't believe that about herself. Oh, she knew it wasn't what she thought people would think, this is what Sara honestly believed. "That's not how people will see this!" She insisted. "My god, Sara. You shouldn't go through this alone."  
  
Well, come hell or high holy water, she wasn't going through it alone. There was an extra room in Catherine's house, and she was going to get it prepped up really soon for a house guest. Eddie's death had ripped her and Lindsay to pieces, and hell, she hadn't even loved the man anymore. Sara had a deep emotional tie to this Billy. William Cranston, as Grissom had identified him. The cut would be deep.  
  
"I've always gone through everything alone." Sara murmured. "What's one more? Listen, can we get back to the case?" Her expression was tired, more than Catherine was used to seeing.  
  
This wasn't good. This really wasn't good at all.  
  
End PT 4 


	5. Chapter 5

Sweet Remembrances  
  
Spoilers from: Playing with Fire (Season 3)  
  
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Part Five:  
  
It was such a waste, such a horrible and tragic waste to see two young children with their arms wrapped tightly around each other lying dead on a bed. Their bedroom should have been their sanctuary, not their prison. Dried tears stained the pale cold faces, and it seemed to Sara she could feel their terror. "This is so sad." She murmured, shaking her head remorsefully.  
  
"I don't know how a parent can do this to their kids." Nick agreed somberly from the door, the camera in his hands lowered as he took in the emotionally laden scene before him. The soft brown eyes took in the two tiny bodies unblinkingly, but Sara could see a reflection of her own dismay in his face. "I get the suicide, but why the kids? Why can't he just leave them alone?"  
  
Sara shrugged, reaching into her pockets for latex gloves. "Suicide's a selfish act, Nick. If you're capable of seeing the taking of your own life as advantageous, you're also capable of deciding that people you're responsible for should die too." She sighed softly, looking around the pink and white room with the stuffed animals and white dressers. It was such an innocent seeming location for some a gruesome tragedy. "We'd better get started."  
  
Nick grunted, but nodded. He backed out of the room and turned towards the master bedroom where the father's body lay in the tub of the ensuite bathroom.  
  
Sara squatted beside the bed, her eyes scanning over the bedding for signs of violence beyond the shooting. The blood splatter was contained to the pillow and bed linens near the pillow, the single gunshot to the head of each girl without a radiant splatter suggested the girls had been lying down, possibly sleeping, at the time of their murder.  
  
With respect for the dead girls, Sara carefully processed the scene, lifting any fibers that seemed unusual, and going over the bodies with care. The evidence was fairly straight forward, but she was unwilling to assume anything. After seeing so many cases where children suffered sexual assault at the hands of their parents, she took nothing for granted.  
  
The girls were tidy, their clothing, while creased from the day's activities, were in good condition and clean. Their hair, messed with blood now, had been shiny and brushed free of knots. Finger nails were clipped recently, and the nailbeds clean and pink. All in all, strong indicators of good care. 'Where's their mother?' Sara wondered absently, gazing around the room for any pictures of their friends or parents.  
  
Leaving the bed, she examined the small night table, her head tilting as her fingers sifted through the odd trinkets, flat stones and beads that littered the tiny square surface. A lamp with a cute clown as the base was lit up, the cut out stars and moons in the shade casting reflections on the ceiling overhead. A sweet room, a child's room with signs of indulgent care, not the typical site of a murder. "Such a pity." She sighed again.  
  
The toys were worn, but in good condition. The children had obviously been taught to care for their possessions and did so. Some of the most worn toys were also, Sara noted, the oldest. Fisher Price playsets meant for toddlers, not preschoolers. Still, these older toys were at the back of the closet and newer toys at the front instead of being discarded or dumped elsewhere.  
  
The furnishings were simple, not terribly elaborate but good solid pieces. "Middle class." Sara mused. "Average income family." This matched the overall scheme of the house. It wasn't overly decorated, but warm and appealing. And, contrary to the murder site, there was a definite female touch to the décor.  
  
Working the children's room meticulously, she finally found the discarded shell casings from the bullets. It wasn't until the coroner cleared the bodies away, however, that she found the bullet imbedded in the mattress of the bed. Nothing, however, was bagged. Not until she had the photos of the scene shot.  
  
Brushing her knees with her hands, she stood up slowly, her back aching from spending too much time crouched down as she sifted through the room contents. Well, that and spending too many days sleeping with her head on the edge of Billy's mattress and body curled awkwardly in a chair. She really needed to sleep in a real bed for just one night.  
  
'Soon enough, girl. Unfortunately.' Billy wasn't doing well. He'd rallied for a week, just after their wedding, but since then sunk dramatically. Before, he'd been able to sit up and at least go outside in a wheelchair. Now, well, if it weren't for the IV in his arm, he'd slowly starve to death.  
  
Sara shook her head, pushing the thoughts of her ailing husband away. This wasn't the time, or the place for that. A family was dead and it was her job to figure out what had happened. "Hey, Nick." She called deliberately, walking out of the bedroom and giving the officer standing in the hall a sign that she wasn't done in there. "How's it going?" She continued, as she entered the bedroom and found Nick snapping a shot of the men's highboy bureau.  
  
"I found something." Nick said softly, one gloved hand picking up a letter. "Seems Mr. Davis was laid off last month. And, according to his bank statements," Nick pointed to another envelope on the bureau. "Mr. Davis wasn't going to be making the mortgage this month."  
  
Sara's eyes widened. "He didn't have insurance or something?" She asked incredulously. "Most homeowners take out insurance in case of loss of employment."  
  
Nick shrugged. "We'll have to find that evidence."  
  
True enough. They would. "Okay." Sara stared at the bureau for a moment. Odd that such critical pieces of information would be lying out for them to find, but no suicide note. Only the noise from the gunshots had alerted neighbors and caused them to find this scene so quickly. "Can I have the camera? I'm ready to shoot the girls' room."  
  
He nodded with a wry frown, handing over the delicate equipment. The lab had originally bought all the cameras at approximately the same time, and just like cars, it seemed the frequent wear and tear on the cameras had begun to take their toll. Now, down to just three cameras, the night shift unit had to deal with aggravation of sharing. "We really need to get those damaged cameras replaced."  
  
"From your mouth to God's ear." Sara muttered.  
  
"Grissom's ear, you mean." Nick replied absently, bagging the bank statements and the letter from the deceased man's company. He meticulously scratched brief notes on each envelope before putting it aside.  
  
Sara stared at him for a moment, shaking her head, and then wandering back to her own scene. Grissom's ears. Yeah, well, not much got through those lately. She had no idea what Grissom's problems were, well, beyond their personal ones, but damn the man was being impossible to work with.  
  
Not that she was working with him, per se. She hadn't actually done a case with him in months. Even then, the cases they had shared had been flukes. No one else had been available when he needed them except her. It didn't matter, though. She was doing her job to the best of her ability, working cooperatively with everyone else, and ultimately, she figured that by the time she was past her first trimester of pregnancy she'd look into leaving the lab permanently.  
  
After all, a crime scene or a lab filled with dangerous chemicals wasn't the safest place for a developing fetus. Of course, first she had to get pregnant, and that project was taking longer than she liked.  
  
She finished taking the scene photos on automatic pilot, her mind freely drifted over the three doctor's appointments she'd had in the last week alone. Her weight, fortunately, was creeping up and wasn't it so kind of Nick and Warrick to point that out to her. She'd managed to put on almost ten pounds in three weeks, bringing her up to one hundred and twenty. Psychologically, she was in good condition, and the Dr. Eppenson was quite optimistic.  
  
Now, if only Billy survived for another two weeks. She was due to ovulate in three days, according to all the monitoring Eppenson's office was doing. That would be the first attempt at insemination. It would take another six to twelve days to determine if it was successful.  
  
'God, I want this to be successful.' She breathed out slowly, her eyes closing with the fervency of the prayer. Her hormones were wild enough with the Clomid and other fertility drugs she was on. It was daunting to think she could be like this for months until she managed to conceive. Morning sickness would be a joy by comparison.  
  
Pictures taken, Sara set the camera down in the doorway and began to collect the physical evidence. Fibers, the bullet casings, the one bullet imbedded into the mattress. She bagged it all, and then returned to her steel case for more equipment.  
  
"You checking for sexual assault?" Nicky asked her later, as she ran a blue light over the bed, slowly sweeping top to bottom in graded strokes. Stepping into the room, but mindful of the camera on the floor, he took up a position with arms folded as if his posture could ward off the possibility. "You don't think..."  
  
"Not leaving any stone unturned, Nick." She countered. "I don't think there was, but I'd rather be safe than sorry."  
  
He grunted, his eyes wandering over the room in much the same way she had done earlier. "After you're done here, I want to go through the rest of the house. There must be more financial records to pull."  
  
"What about the wife?" Sara asked, snapping the light source off. "Or the kids' mother."  
  
He made a face. "Good question." He admitted. His dark head jerked back towards the bedroom he'd just finished. "There was no indications of a spouse. One toothbrush, one brush, no feminine products. Closets had no clothes other than for the deceased." He shrugged. "Wife left?"  
  
"Or died." Sara muttered quietly, thinking of Billy's pinched pale face lying in his hospital bed as she did so. The father to her children would be dying before they were even born, possibly before they were even conceived.  
  
"Yeah." Even Nick sounded down about that possibility. "Sucks for the kids, growing up without a mother. Especially two little girls."  
  
Oh, oh... the hormones were in full swing. "You think?" Sara swallowed around a wave of grief. Her own grief as yet unrealized, but waiting patiently to strike fully. "It's not all bad, though, I mean as long as the children are wanted and loved. They were well cared for. Good clothes, nice toys. I don't think this was a malicious act, more like a misguided loving one."  
  
They'd need to obtain medical records. How did a man go from a moderately successfully happy family man to killing his children and committing suicide? There had to be some triggers, possibly the loss of a job, the financial instability or more. Maybe his wife had died, or left him after he lost his job and he became clinically depressed?  
  
What if it was her? What if after all of Billy's medical expenses were tallied up, there wasn't enough left to support her and their child. What if she had twins, multiple births were a definite possibility especially when the prospective mother was on fertility drugs. What if she couldn't support them or give them everything they needed? What if her child had leukemia too? What if...?  
  
Nick's hand touched her arm gently. "Sara? Hey, hey... you okay?"  
  
She looked up at him, surprised to feel tears thick in her eyes. "Yeah." She sniffed, rubbing at her face. "Allergies."  
  
Skepticism marred his handsome features. "Uh huh. And I'm the Easter Bunny." He shook his head slowly. "You've been off for weeks. What's going on? Is something wrong?"  
  
'I married my best friend not because I was in love with him, he's dying, and I'm planning to have his baby alone. The man I am in love with treats me like I'm a disease; I have no friends, no family and nothing to show for my life. I'm great.' Sara gave the diatribe to herself, looking away from Nick in case he could read her thoughts through her eyes. They all had their specialties in the field. A little quirk in their personality that gave them an advantage in the field. Nick's was in observing people and getting inside their head.  
  
Catherine was definitely better at handling people, but Nick sometimes seemed almost telepathic the way he could read the people he knew well. It was, truly creepy. "I'm fine." She mumbled. "Not enough sleep lately, and I'm run down."  
  
"You?" He snorted. "Uh huh. This doesn't have anything to do with whatever argument you and Griss had last, does it?"  
  
Sara shook her head. Argument? They'd have to be speaking to have an argument. The words "Nick and Sara, you have a murder- suicide at..." didn't count. "No." She insisted firmly. "Besides, Grissom does not dictate as to my life. I'm just not sleeping well."  
  
Nick nodded slowly, thoughtfully screwing the lens cap back on the camera. "Are you sure about that? Because, you're not the only one that's been acting weird lately. Grissom's right there alongside you." Taking a few steps towards Sara, he peered over her shoulder while she swabbed blood and tissue from the bed. "Seems to me that there's a whole lot about you that makes Grissom dance to a certain tune, and a lot about Griss that causes you to react. I don't get why you two keep putting distance between each other. I thought you were friends. Actually, I suspected there was more than that, but... I thought at the very least you were friends."  
  
She snorted bitterly, her lungs aching with a pain that had nothing to do with exertion. "Funny," She mumbled, flashing him a rueful smile. "I used to think we were friends at the very least too. I was wrong." Standing up quickly, she picked up her case and gave the room a once over with her eyes. "I'm done here. I think that's the upper floor covered. You want to start with the kitchen and I'll work the living room?"  
  
His lips parted as if to say more, but she shook it off. The last thing she wanted was to discuss her personal problems with anyone else. Catherine was doing a great job of interrogating her as it was. "We don't want to be here all night, do we?" Eyebrow raised with pointed curiosity, she nodded towards the door. He took the hint and left, the camera in his possession, and his own crime scene kit carried loosely under one arm.  
  
The rest of the house was pretty simple. She found, in the small room behind the living room that seemed to serve as an office, a small guncase that had been left on the top of the desk. The locked cabinet it had been stored in, with the extra rounds of bullets still neatly in their boxes, was left with the door ajar and keys hanging in the lock.  
  
It was so sad, a family destroyed in a tragedy like this.  
  
She finished up with the living room and wandered out to the hallway, casting sad eyes at the pictures hanging on the walls. In none of them was a maternal figure. Always they reflected the two small girls, clearly younger than they were at the time of their death and a cheerfully grinning man. There had to be something drastic to cause a man so clearly in love with his children to just give it all up.  
  
Slipping her latex gloves off her hands, she balled the two thin gloves up, tucking the one into the other and squeezing it in her right hand like a stress ball. From all appearances, this was cut and dry. If the prints came back off the gun as the father's, and the bullets all matched as being from that gun, it was cased closed. She just wanted to know why, although that wasn't part of her job.  
  
"I don't get it." Nick muttered as he snapped up his case. The quick rapid movements of his hands told a story of their own. He, like her, didn't understand why a man would kill his children and then himself. It was an alien concept to both their minds.  
  
"We're not supposed to understand it." Sara smiled softly, her thumb stroking the underside of her ring finger to twist her wedding rings in circles. She'd been taking it off and putting it on a chain before coming to work for the past two weeks, but in the race to get to work this evening she'd forgotten it.  
  
"Yeah, yeah. Ours is not to question why, ours is but to do and die." He rolled his eyes. "I think the what happened and who done it is pretty clear."  
  
She shrugged. "Maybe. We'll see what comes back from the prints and ballistics." There was always room for a twist. The Millander case had shown that clearly enough. Mind you, that case had been more convoluted than any other they had experienced in Las Vegas over the past three years. "So, are you done here?"  
  
He twisted around slowly, his body spinning in a circle as his eyes carefully looked over the kitchen again. "Yeah." He nodded, his displeasure at the whole case apparent on his face. Dark brows furrowed tightly and his jaw rigid, she could see it wasn't just herself that was feeling the volatile emotions linked to this scene.  
  
Detective Conroy had been terse when she met with them at the front door after their arrival. Unusually short-tempered and irritable, and it was only after Sara had become familiarized with the scene that she understood why. "I'll take a straight homicide over this any day." She licked her dry lips, and ran her free hand through her hair, messing it up as if by doing so she could shed the stress she was feeling.  
  
Nick grunted, a slight smile on his face appearing and then slowly fading away to be replaced with puzzlement.  
  
"What?" Sara asked.  
  
He shook his head. "Nothing." His eyes flickered over her face again, and he gave himself a little shake before moving quickly past her.  
  
Nothing, her ass! And they said women were moody creatures. Obviously whoever they were, they were also male and in serious denial. Tired, cranky and not really looking forward to what she was certain the evidence that they had taken would reveal, Sara cast one last look at a picture of the formerly happy family before following Nick out of the house and to the Tahoe.  
  
Behind them, the police closed and locked the doors, and then sealed it up as an unreleased crime scene.  
  
Sara tossed her case in beside Nick's and shut the trunk. The samples were neatly packed in a tote box for portability, and placed with priority in a secure corner of the trunk where they wouldn't shift or be easily disturbed. That was the advantage of using these trucks. They were sturdy, they were dependable, they were identifiable, and they had terrific storage capability.  
  
They also allowed for much more passenger space than just two people needed, which was why she and Nick had traveled to the scene in his Tahoe and left hers in the parking lot. She slid into the passenger seat and fastened her seat-belt automatically, keenly aware that Nick was staring straight out the windshield at nothing. What had spooked him?  
  
"Are you okay?" Reaching out, she gently touched his right arm. He flinched. "Nick?"  
  
His head lowered down for a moment, lips pressed tightly together. The engine was running, but the vehicle was still in park, and when he finally turned his head to look at her, she could feel the heat just now seeping through the vents. "Those are wedding rings, aren't they, Sara." The question was more of a statement awaiting confirmation.  
  
She winced. What a marvelous day to forget to put the rings on a chain. Unlike Catherine, Nick would tell Warrick. And, from there, the entire lab would know. Marvelous. However, lying to him just seemed wrong. "Yeah." Her voice was tiny, softly conveying that it was a subject she'd classified as intensely personal.  
  
"That's what has Griss all upset." Nick's jaw shifted stubbornly. "Who is he, Sara?"  
  
"A very special person." She looked away, out the window. "His name is William Cranston, and I've known him since I was three years old."  
  
Almost savagely, Nick threw the truck from Park to Drive. "That's why you were all decked up two weeks ago, wasn't it? Why didn't you tell any of us? Why are you being so secretive about this?"  
  
She shrugged, watching cute little houses fade into apartment buildings as the Tahoe flew by. "I'm not being secretive. There's lots of things about my life that I don't tell you guys."  
  
He grunted, but despite whatever the bee was that had gotten into his head, he did stop for a red light. "You don't trust us." He decided grimly.  
  
"I trust you with my life every single day." She countered. "But, it's not like--." She clamped her lips shut. The gut instinct had been to say 'it's not like we're friends', but that was too cold a statement for her to make. Too harsh. They were coworkers, they got along well in the work environment, but she didn't hang out with him or Warrick after work, she wasn't invited to baseball games, poker games, a morning 'night-cap', or stuff like that. They weren't pals.  
  
He didn't know her darkest secrets and she most certainly didn't know his. And, Billy, while not a dark secret was a complicated and intensely personal subject. What was she supposed to do? Walk in and announce she was getting married to her dearest friend, planning to have his children, and oh yes, he's dying?  
  
That wasn't the conversation you had with your coworkers. Hell, it wasn't a conversation you had with anyone except your closest friends, your family and your therapist.  
  
"It's not like what, Sara?" He prodded, a low note of anger in his voice. "Not like I'm your friend." See, there was that almost telepathic quality about Nick again.  
  
"Are you?" She turned now. "Are you really? Sure, I come into work and we say hello, you'll ask me how my cases went, ask me if I remembered to eat, how much overtime have I done. But, do you ask about how I was after Hank-- ." She bit her lip. "Did you ask me how I was feeling after the lab blew up? Stop to consider that my little act when we arrested Mickey had less to do with feeling indestructible and more to do with needing to feel I had control again? That maybe I was still affected by nearly being seriously hurt?"  
  
His jaw clicked as he slammed it shut.  
  
"Did you call me at home to find out why I was keeping to myself? Where I was disappearing to after shift and coming in looking like a zombie? Do you even know where I live?"  
  
"Do you?"  
  
"Yes." Sara toyed with her engagement ring, a formality Billy hadn't needed to observe but chose to gift her with all the same. The single solitaire was blended into a simple band, and cradled against her patterned wedding band gracefully. "After Nigel Crane attacked you, you moved to Melbourne St. Nice condo unit there. Third floor. I have your phone number too. You should know I know this, after all, I did send you a Christmas card."  
  
He had the grace to blush, probably embarrassed that he hadn't sent her a card, but that had never been a thought on her mind. Sending out Christmas cards was just a tradition she did, it was possibly her only Christmas tradition. There was no tree, no presents under it and no Christmas decorations in her apartment. There really wasn't a point to it. Oh, she always bought presents, gifts that she donated to children's charities. And, she usually received a gift certificate from her parents.  
  
The only real presents she'd ever gotten over Christmas had been from Billy and Meg. Meg, however, was in Ethiopia working on some dig or another. She didn't even know Billy was dying. There was no way to tell her in time.  
  
"I'm sorry." Nick whispered. "I never thought. I always thought you wanted us to keep some distance, and I never realized how it would look to you."  
  
Sara shrugged. "It doesn't matter." She sighed.  
  
"It does." He protested, thumping one hand on the steering wheel. "Do you know how it makes me feel to think someone I care for like a sister thinks I don't give a rats ass about her? I feel like a real jerk."  
  
Sara sighed, a dull ache beginning in her neck and spreading to her head. "It's a two-way street, Nick. I'm not a warm and fuzzy people person."  
  
"You're not anti-social either." He shot back. "And I am a people person. I should've tried. Taken you to the pool hall with the guys, and sure we could have robbed you blind but maybe then you'd have invited us to your own wedding."  
  
Oh no. That hadn't even been a possibility. Besides, there was a reason why the guys hadn't invited her. Other than their male bonding rituals. "Do you invite Catherine?" She asked wearily, wanting him to let this go.  
  
He muttered something under his breath, and she had to repeat her question again. "No." He admitted.  
  
"Then why would you invite me?"  
  
"Are you happy with him?" Oh, why did men have this innate ability of dropping one subject and switching to another before a person could catch up? "You didn't take a honeymoon, you've been really. glum lately. If this is what marriage is like, I'm not gonna be signing up."  
  
"Catherine and I are not poster-children for happily ever after. I give you that." Sara shot back dryly. "But, Billy is wonderful and I don't regret my decision at all. I wouldn't give him up for the world." That was true enough. Billy was wonderful, he always had been a Prince in her world. And, if she could have bartered with the devil for a cure for Billy, she cheerfully would have done so.  
  
His shoulders slumped slightly. "How inspiring. Do you at least have wedding pictures?"  
  
Despite herself, she smiled. "Actually, I do."  
  
Nick raised an eyebrow, casting a smile her way, a tired smile, a resigned smile the kind of expression that said 'hey, I'm a jerk, but I'm gonna get this right'. "Well, will miracles never cease?"  
  
End PT 5 


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